An Oath to Keep
by Ramzes
Summary: He might be the Sword of the Morning, the famed knight of the Kingsguard but during his time in the Tower of Joy, Ser Arthur Dayne is mercilessy reminded of what he once was. He will keep his oath, yet he cannot help but judge.
1. Chapter 1

_An Oath to Keep_

Chapter 1

"It's so hot. Your people must be very resilient, to live here."

Arthur Dayne turned around, saw how uncomfortable all of them looked, all red and sweaty. And smiled. "Welcome to the coldest part of Dorne, my lady," he said and looked up, exposing his face to the fading sun. It caressed him like a kiss of light, like a woman's touch, like all the things he had been denying and suppressing within himself for all those years. Yes, the sun was different here but brighter, warmer. Of course, the she-wolf would never feel it like he did. She probably longed for cold and a hint of snow already, love or not. _Well, she should have stayed in her rooms then, not coming to watch us practice_, he thought, ungraciously. Rhaegar was inside, engrossed by an old book, so she had no reason to be outside.

Ser Gerold gave him a steady look that Arthur did not even bother to shrug off. He was here, wasn't he? Guarding the Prince and his lady-love, as he was obliged to. He was dutiful and courteous enough. Becoming the she-wolf's _friend_ was nowhere in his vows. If Rhaegar ordered it, he'd try, of course. But the Prince wasn't so lost in his new love as not to recognize that he shouldn't ask for the impossible.

"It's late," the girl said. "Would you sup with us – all of you?"

The others muttered an agreement, albeit uneasy. Arthur inhaled deeply. Damn it, why did she have to be so nice? Hadn't he shown clearly enough already that he was not interested in being in her company more than the absolute minimum required? At the same time, he could not help but admire his spirit. In her place, many a woman would have given up their attempts to break the ice. Not this one, though. She was as persistent as… snow.

"Thank you but no, my lady. I'm ready to take the night watch," he told his commander.

Ser Gerold sighed. Arthur was always volunteering to take the night watch when they were invited to share the Prince's table and he was always quick to start before it was even night. The White Bull had tried to be understanding but he would not tolerate such a blatant disapproval for another moment.

"You'll take it after you sup," he said, and Arthur nodded curtly.

There was still time before supper and as usual, Arthur headed for the top of the tower from where he could see the Red Mountains in their entire glory. He stared at their shape, turned golden and crimson under the halo of fire that was the rising sun and breathed the fresh breeze stroking his face, breathed Dorne in. How had he lived for so long without its swelter, without the cooling caress of the evening wind, without the whinnying of the sand steeds in their mountain pastures? His eyes were inevitably drawn to the far end of the mountain tops, to something he could not see, only feel. Starfall was there, so close and so out of reach. He longed to go there, to see Allyria whom he probably wouldn't recognize, to talk to Arel about small things of no importance.

How he had longed to escape once! How he had obsessed over the glory he had been sure awaited him! How he had wanted to make something of himself out of the isolation of Dorne, to be a part of something bigger, greater! And now he was trapped here on Rhaegar's whim when his mind, his conscience, his body even screamed that it was not right, that he shouldn't be here, that none of this should have happened, ever, in any place but this one least of all. It was when he had achieved his dream that he realized that in some recess of his mind, he was Dornish through and through. Just a recess but it spread like the pain from a battle wound, like the blood flowing in his veins. He was Dornish and he was restrained. The Tower of Joy, the Prince's love nest, had turned into Arthur's prison. His guard was his shame, his torment the memory of better, merrier days, Starfall, Sunspear, the Water Gardens…

"You can ask him to let you go to Starfall later, you know."

Ser Oswell's voice startled him. The other knight leaned against the railing next to Arthur and stared right ahead. "When… when this matter is solved, I am sure he won't refuse you."

Arthur turned to look at him and a bitter smile gave his lips a twist darker than the falling twilight. Ser Oswell was a good man, an honest man. He was the only one who understood, to some extent. He had been to Starfall with Princess Elia, he had seen Arthur in Dorne. He could vaguely feel how deeply Arthur's feelings of conflict, shame and betrayal ran while the others thought it was only a touch deeper than their own reluctance to be here. Kingsguard owed allegiance only to the Iron Throne, it was part of them.

In theory?

"There is no way back for me. My House has been the Martell's most trustworthy vassals for centuries. How can I go back after this?"

Ser Oswell looked uneasy, staring into the fading green of the mountains. "You are doing your duty."

"Aye," Arthur agreed. "My duty to the Prince. Doran Martell will _so_ care. And my brother will be awed, I am sure." He laughed bitterly, ugly. "To them, I will be the man who assisted the offence given to Dorne." He paused. "I am this man," he added softly, thoughtfully.

"There is no offence…"

A handmaiden hurried through the courtyard below them with water from the well. For Lady Lyanna's bath, no doubt. She had bathed just in the morning, with the same huge amount of water. It was beyond indecent. For the inland of Dorne, water was as precious as gold and even those who were not likely to suffer from draught any time soon treasured it. Surely the girl did nothing so exacting to need two baths a day. Each drop of water she consumed for her leisure was a drop away from the huge cisterns that soon might make the difference between life and death for Dornish folk. Arthur turned to his sworn brother, not bothering to hide his anger. "Do you really believe it?" he asked. Even for people who did not guard their autonomy so fiercely, it would be a great insult and although the Kingsguard was not to judge the Prince's deeds, they could not expect of others to extend the same courtesy.

Ser Oswell turned his head aside. "Doran Martell is a man of sense," he said. "Surely he would recognize that the only thing that matters is the fact that his sister is the Prince's lawful wife."

Arthur bit back his retort and suddenly wished for the other man to leave. He would not disabuse him of his notions about the Prince of Dorne. Doran was a _Martell_ and the Martells never forgot a slight. Arthur knew Doran would take it as a slight and further offence as soon as he found out there whereabouts and he suspected that Ser Oswell knew it, too. And although Doran would always place Dorne first, Elia's humiliation mattered to him. It mattered to Arthur, too, more than he cared to admit to himself. Elia was something that could only be looked, not touched. Never touched. A sun so distant that he could only stare. She was only to be admired. To have feats done in her name. To have him give life for her. She was the sister of the Prince of Dorne, the wife of the Crown Prince he had pledged his life to. And he could not help but feel that he had helped in her being exposed to shame. His vows bound him so tight that there was no air. No escape. He could never look her in the eye again. Not her. Not her brothers. Not his own siblings. Not a single one of the people he had grown up with, the people he had bonded with when too young to realize that he was bonding. Not that they would take him back. They didn't understand… but then, neither did he, right? If he truly understood, he wouldn't be this tormented now.

And if Rhaegar took the girl to wife? It wouldn't matter whether he'd send Elia away. If he took the girl to wife, that might be the end of it. Arthur fervently wished the Prince had enough common sense left. No prophecy could possibly fix _this_.

He looked down. He was starting to walk a fine line. It was his duty to obey, not judge, and he was dangerously close to do just this. Maybe it was a good thing that the Lord Commander had ordered him to humor Lady Lyanna. He had to keep his feelings for himself and the sooner he started, the better. Because what he was having now was starting to look like something entirely unacceptable.

Doubt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to CloudyDream and VanillaMostly for reviewing, I really appreciate it.**

An Oath to Keep

Chapter 2

Arthur looked at the Lord Commander's pinched face and suddenly fought a very inappropriate urge – the desire to laugh. Ser Gerold had arrived at the Tower only a week ago and had still to get accustomed to Dornish food – Dornish love of spices. Unexpectedly, Arthur was back at Sunspear, having a good laugh over the foreign visitors of the palace after a feast. Prince Oberyn could mimic them so perfectly that he had the rest of them laughing to tears no matter what. Arthur, Elia, the three Fowlers, Gawyne Blackstream – they had such fun after official receptions.

He hadn't thought about them in years but now he remembered them ever so clearly, as they had been then, as they had been while attending feasts, seeking shelter from the heat, sitting in the rowing boats that raced each other near the shores of Sunspear. Ashara had been there, then, and Arel, and Larra Blackmont, and Tremond and Errol Gargalen. A few times, the son of that Pentoshi magister came, too, when he visited Sunspear. And the boats sped, and they were laughing, for they were young and for a moment they had forgotten, in that wild race over the water, that each of them carried the curse of their lineage.

Where were they now? Was there one among them who had been spared? Elia was at King's Landing, having almost died after giving birth. Ashara tended to her loyally, no doubt. Arel was at Starfall, so close and so out of reach. In a way, Arthur was glad that he was not supposed to go home – his brother had enough troubles of his own. He's been wed for six years and his lady wife was still to carry a babe to term. She did not treat Arel as Arthur wished she did. No, Arel didn't need Rhaegar's actions heaped on him, too. Prince Oberyn was… Arthur was glad he had yet to hear of him because he expected something outrageous, not that it would be uncalled for. Janelle Fowler had wed that old man of the Blue Isle and was now blamed for his rapid decline. Her brother Frencis had died last year of… Arthur realized that he did not remember. About his own self, he'd rather not think at all.

He felt Rhaegar's look from the seat down the table. In the last week, since the Lord Commander's arrival, Rhaegar had been so quiet, so subdued. Arthur wondered just how bad were the news Gerold had brought but of course, the White Bull would not tell them – he had only told Rhaegar the whole story. All the others knew was that there was some unrest over Lyanna Stark's disappearance. Some skirmishes. Arthur felt dread filling his belly each time he thought about that.

"Is there something you Dornish could cook without drowning it in spince?" the girl joked.

"No, my lady," Arthur said, as polite and reserved as ever. He was not going to become her friend unless ordered to.

The steps echoed down the hall all of a sudden – not the soft padding of servants but the heavy boots of knights. Like one, the three Kingsguard rose and placed their hands on their swords. Rhaegar and Lyanna remained seated, although she went white, the necklace of rubies and diamonds – a gift from the Prince – about her neck suddenly the most vivid thing about her.

Quite taken aback, Arthur realized that he now felt… pity. This woman-child, the girl that turned everything upside down – she was so young. She hadn't known what to expect. She still didn't. But he had overheard some of her conversations with the Prince and knew that she was tired of holing in like a malefactor.

The door opened softly. In the light of the torches entered a man and everyone gasped.

"What…" Ser Oswell stammered.

Arthur understood their shock, for in a brief moment of madness he thought the King had managed to find them here. The long silver hair, the purple eyes, the pale face – it was all Aerys. Yet the nails were clean and cut, the newcomer was dressed in mail and not robes… and when he came fully into the flickering light of the torches, he revealed an expression of stony stolidity. The purple eyes were cold but clear. Resolved.

"Who are you?" Ser Gerold asked threateningly.

The man only arched an eyebrow. "Come on, old friend, you've forgotten me? It's been only twenty-four years."

He looked around, not impressed with the swords that were still drawn. A sarcastic smile played on his lips. "Well met, Rhaegar Targaryen," he said. "How is your lady wife?"

Rhaegar stared right back. "She's well, as far as I know."

"As far as you know," the man repeated. "How reassuring!"

An old woman and a young man were the next ones to enter. The man turned back to close the door behind them, then led her to the centre of the room. She was magnificently attired in red and black silk. Huge pearls shone on her fingers, about her neck. An amethyst tiara held her white hair back, making the young man's locks even darker in comparison. She slowly crossed the room and stopped near the table, facing Rhaegar and Lyanna across it.

"Who are you?" Rhaegar demanded.

"Ask the Lord Commander," the first man said. "You saw that he recognized me."

By now, Arthur had recognized him as well. He had recognized all three of them. Kingsguard did not flee, otherwise he would have bolted out of the door.

"This is Mikkel Gargalen," the White Bull said. "And this is…"

"This is the woman you shouldn't address unless being spoken to," she interrupted. Her eyes blazed black anger. "How dare you draw a sword in my presence, Ser?" she snapped. "Or have the years of guarding madness in King's Landing muddled your own wits?"

Ser Gerold looked decidedly uncomfortable. He looked at Rhaegar who nodded. Two men and a woman could not possibly be a threat. She must have seen at least seventy namedays.

"Who are you?" the Prince asked again. "What are you doing here?"

Lyanna sat frozen in her seat, not understanding what was going on. But Arthur understood now; with a sickening feeling he waited for the inevitable.

"I came to see you," the woman replied readily. "I've heard that you're a god; I've heard that you are a brute; I've heard that the family curse runs strong in your veins. I had to see you, to make up my own mind."

"What are you doing here?" Rhaegar asked, more sharply.

She shook her head. "The question is, Rhaegar Targaryen, what are _you_ doing here. This is my tower and I don't remember inviting here either you or your _companion_."

She said the last word in even voice and still managed to sound more insulting than if she had started screaming vulgarities. Beneath the stark shine, her eyes were stormy indigo, almost black. She didn't even look at Lyanna.

Rhaegar stared at her. "Your tower? This is…"

"This is the tower I built when I wed my second husband. His Grace my father granted the land to me to build a place for respite on my way to King's Landing. I know its secrets for it was I who had them commissioned."

Now, Rhaegar understood. "You're Daella," he said. "Daella Targaryen."

"I go by Daella Gargalen these days," she said. "I haven't been at court since my brother's death and right now, it doesn't feel good to be a Targaryen."

"I thought you were dead," he said. "No one spoke of you."

She nodded. "I am," she confirmed. "To the court, anyway. Ten years apart, and the courtiers are already burying you while you still take breath."

Although well into her dotage, she had still managed to preserve something of a beauty that must have been great, once. Her face was all wrinkled, her hands were bur mere sticks but her beauty lay in the structure of her bones, in the finely shaped lines of her face. No amount of wrinkles and sagging of the skin could change that. She stared at Rhaegar with the dignity of an affronted queen, mixed with anger and disappointment.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again. "Take a seat."

She shook her head. "To sit on _that_ table?" Her tone indicated that the present company around the table had soiled it beyond repair. "I am not here to trade niceties," she went on. "We are here because we want to know what you are going to do."

Ser Oswell's hand itched for his sword again but the Lord Commander gave him a warning look. Arthur understood their predicament: if the old woman was who she claimed she was – he knew she was but they didn't, - then they could not possibly draw a sword in her presence without a reason; her overt hostility towards Rhaegar gave them a reason but was it enough?

"You've been here for months," Daella Gargalen went on. "The Lord Commander arrived in less than a week with news from King's Landing and you're all lingering here while the realm is in bloody war because of you? People have died and you are just sitting here busy with better things to do?" Her voice was soft, dripping poison.

"War?" Lyanna asked and shot up. "There is a _war_ here?"

Her grey eyes were wide and full of horrified disbelief, her hand went to her throat. She looked very young and vulnerable, yet all of a sudden Arthur could not find it in himself to care. _A war? I thought it was only skirmishes. Gerold said so._ His eyes went to the knight's stony face, moved to the Prince's eyes and he knew that the Lord Commander had not hid the truth on his own accord.

Princess Daella laughed, bitter and loud and angry. "Well, of course there is a war, Lady Lyanna! What did you _expect_ would happen when you ran away with a man who was not your betrothed? A man who was very much wed, if I might add? That your family will sit silent? That our wise king will accept it all in stride and show wisdom in soothing the trouble? Or maybe – " Her eyes widened in mocking understanding, " – maybe you thought if you hide here long enough, the wife wouldn't be a problem anymore? What did the Prince tell you? That she'd die in childbed and the road before the two of you would be cleared?"

"No," Lyanna spat back. A royal this old crone might be but Lyanna was of the North. She would not let the old hag step on her like that. She would… "It has nothing to do with Princess Elia."

But Lady Gargalen ignored her. Dark indigo eyes bore in purple ones. It was as if no one else existed for her but Rhaegar. "How long were you planning on hiding?" she asked. "How long, while all around the land burns because of your lowly desires?"

"I am not hiding," he said, visibly trying not to let her get on his nerves. "There is more on the stake than you think, my lady. I – "

She didn't let him finish. At the door, a terrified handmaiden appeared and she waved the girl away. Lyanna slowly sat down.

"If you're talking about the almighty prophecy," Daella said, "let me tell you one thing: you've obviously become so entrenched in the great saving of the world that you never stopped to consider the collateral damage. One would think that Summerhall would make you stop and think."

Now, everyone stared at her agape. Rhaegar, though, was the first one to regain his composure and his quick wit led him to the explanation. "You've been in contact with Aemon," he said.

She shrugged. "Why, yes, of course. My brother and I never lost touch. In fact, after Rhae and Aegon's deaths, our exchanges became even more frequent."

Rhaegar was silent, feeling ridiculously hurt that the old relative he had never met, far at the Wall, had never mentioned who else he contacted. And… he had been sharing Rhaegar's secret with this resentful old woman? The one who obviously never got over the fact that she had not ascended to queenship, that Aegon the Unlikely had chosen their other sister to be his wife?

She went on, "And while all this is happening, you're hiding here, _working_ on saving the world."

The way she said it, the word sounded obscene. She suddenly whirled back and attacked Ser Gerold now. "And you're just standing and letting him go on without making any effort , taking any responsibility, Ser? What a fine knight you are!"

He looked aside. His voice actually sounded uncomfortable, for first time since Arthur knew him. "My duty is to serve, Princess, not give opinions."

She brushed that aside with a gesture of her slim bejeweled hand. "You seem to have forgotten whom you're talking to, Ser. You may teach your new brothers that obeying is all there is to it. But don't try it with me since we both know how it used to be. I assure you, Ser Duncan the Tall would not have stayed silent while the King tortured innocent men in front of him; I assure you that had Aegon tried hiding like your Prince is doing now, Ser Duncan would have made it abundantly clear that it was not the right thing to do. I imagine he's spinning in his grave right now."

The White Bull looked down but did not protest. "Why did you bring them along, my lady?" he asked instead. "I can see that it was your doing coming here. Why did you bring them along?"

"Because I would not feel safe on my own within this tower anymore," she said.

Lyanna gasped. The woman had all but insulted the Prince and Kingsguard to their faces, declaring that she thought them capable of attacking her because they did not like what she had to say.

Daella turned around and looked at Rhaegar once more. "You've been hiding in here for months; Ser Gerold brought you the news a week ago and you still didn't do anything. I find your behavior appalling in a prince, unworthy of a dragon and I did not want to lose the satisfaction of saying it to your face."

She turned to her companions. "Come on. It's time for us to go. Let the Prince do his _duty_ while we're doing our best to stop the rebels _and_ Aerys, lest other men end up like the Starks or poor Jaline Uller. We are done here."

"Just a moment, my lady," the second man, the young one, said. _Is he her grandson_, Rhaegar wondered. His father's lookalike who stared at him with such disgust and _sanity_ that it was innerving was her son, obviously, having inherited his entire looks from her side of the family. The young dark-haired one who had yet to say a word had violet eyes, too, and they were filled with the same cold resentment.

He was about to say something but Lyanna beat him to it. "What do you mean?" she asked. She probably meant to sound angry but she sounded only shrilly and… afraid. "_End up like the Starks_? What do you know of my family?"

Princess Daella regarder her levelly. "You don't know?" she asked and there was surprise in her voice. "You haven't told her?" she asked Rhaegar.

Now she sounded incredulous.

He clenched his teeth. In this moment, he could happily throttle the old crone.

"What does that mean?" Lyanna asked and Arthur and Ser Oswell looked at each other, stunned. "What happened?"

"Lyanna," he said. "I can explain…"

"I'd rather hear Lady Gargalen's explanation," she spat and turned to the old woman, white with fearful anticipation.

There was no pity in the Princess' voice. "Your brother Brandon went to the Red Keep demanding Rhaegar to come out and die. Aerys deemed that a treason and sentenced your brother and father to death, then insisted for your younger brother's head, also. His foster father refused and called his banners instead. _That's_ why we are in a war, Lady Lyanna."

Lyanna's mouth opened. Her lips moved and trembled in a futile attempt to form words but she could will speech out no more than she could will her body to rise from the chair. The world around her became black.

"No," she finally managed. "No, this can't be true."

But one look at Rhaegar's face showed her that the old woman was not lying. She started trembling. He held out a hand and she could not even avoid it, she couldn't move. Her limbs were heavy like iron.

His fingers against her cheek felt like a slap, although the touch was as tender as ever and maybe even more so.

"My love…" Rhaegar said.

"Don't call me that!" Finally, she had found her voice. The moment she found her movements, she pressed her back against the chair, as far from Rhaegar as she could. This was impossible. It couldn't be. A gallery of images fluttered through her mind: her contentment at her father's rare but just compliments when she was a child, Brandon showing her how to hold his own sword which was then too heavy for the little girl's hand, her father dispensing justice in the great hall, Brandon winking at a girl whose name Lyanna could not remember. They were so vibrant, so full of life. The thought that they were no more was more than she could imagine. And it was because of her. Because she had…

"No," she whispered. "No!" she said, louder.

She wasn't aware of the tears rolling down her cheeks until she suddenly saw the face of the old woman very close to her, indigo eyes burning, pale lips pressed in a thin line. It seemed that Lyanna's tears were the thing that finally broke Daella Gargalen's self-control, throwing her in a rage that could not be contained. No one tried to stop her. No one dared intervene. She was fury itself, a true dragon, albeit an old and worn out one.

"Why are you crying?" Daella spat. "Why are you crying now? Because your men are dead? My son and two of my grandsons died in the last battle, at Ashford. You know what your betrothed did with the body of my younger grandson, the one whose dragon blood showed? He cut his head off and stuck it on a pike for his host to cheer so everyone could see what would happen to dragonspawns. We never wanted to be involved in this war but Aerys tied our hands. No one wanted to go to war but your selfishness and lack of reason landed us right there. And you dare whimper? You have no right. Do you know how much daughters and sisters are now weeping because of you? Shut up before I make you! Do you know how much _I_ want to throw myself on the ground and howl?"

Her venom filled the room like foul smell. Her hatred was palpable, her pain clear, her derision making no difference between Lyanna, Rhaegar, and the three Kingsguard. Lord Gargalen stepped forward. "Mother," he said . "Let's go. We saw what we came to see. We know what the Prince intends to do about the war he caused – nothing. There's nothing for us here anymore."

She nodded, once again icily composed. "Let's go." She looked at Rhaegar. "I wish you joy of your young lady," she said. "Only… when you are working for the prophecy, don't forget one thing. You might think that saving the world is the only thing that matters but it's people who live in this world. People. Not mere pawns for your plans. From the old fisherman to your newborn son, they are the ones who bear the consequences of great schemes.""

Her words sounded like a prophecy in themselves. Rhaegar shuddered.

She started to leave.

"My lady," he said. "I did not give you permission to leave."

She laughed. "Permission?" she said. "You think you can give me _permission_? I am not yours to command, little boy. You're taking me for someone else."

Once again, she turned back and then paused, looking at the young man she had brought along. For first time, she looked hesitant. "My lord," she said. "Do you…"

He shook his head. "I only wanted to make sure, my lady," he said. "I didn't want to believe. But now I see it's true. He isn't one of us."

Utterly confused, Rhaegar looked around and saw. The truth came to him the moment he realized how Arthur had stepped back, his hands hanging limp against his sides, his face the most tortured Rhaegar had ever seen it. He looked… guilty. Ashamed.

The other man stepped forward, not quite near Arthur, and spoke in a level voice, "Yesterday, there was a meeting to discuss what we should do with the intruders in our lands. Lord Manwoody, Lady Blackmont, and I are of the same mind. I was the one chosen to come here because to me, it's personal. Hear me out, for I will not say it twice. In the future, you are not welcome to Kingsgrave, Blackmont or Starfall. Remember that, for you are now an enemy of Dorne, Kingsguard."

Arthur didn't even blink, yet for the briefest of moments Rhaegar felt his anguish so deep that he wondered how his friend had not crumbled.

"My lord of Dayne," he said. "Ser Arthur is not to blame. He was simply following orders. I was the one who…"

The young Lord Dayne looked at him as if he were stunned that Rhaegar had dared address him. Not a drop of gratitude or reverence in his voice, he said, "I _know_ this. He isn't the type to kidnap highborn ladies on the road. At least, he didn't use to be," he added acidly. 'He went too far, though. He chose his vows to you instead of his loyalty to Dorne and our blood. By lletting you take her here, by guarding what is an insult to all Dornishmen, by leaving the golden children of Dorne in King's Landing as hostages for our loyalty, by holing in here with you when he was part of the reason the war broke out he severed any links to us."

Arthur started to say something then fell silent as the realization came. His brother smiled grimly. "Ah I see that you get it now. What did you _think_ was happening to those of our people who went to King's Landing as a part of the Princess' retinue? Let me tell you: they are hostages for the good behavior of their fathers, mothers, and brothers, the members of the major Houses of Dorne. And chief among them is our own sister. We sent golden youths there and now they are living under a constant threat. Just ask what happened to Jaline Uller. Do you remember Lady Jaline? She went to the Water Gardens about a year before you left. She followed the Princess and Ashara everywhere and loved to dance in the water, Ashara told me. Remember her?"

"What?" Arthur's voice was hoarse, his eyes still cast down. "What happened to her?"

"Ask the Lord Commander," Arel spat. "I am told he was the one who dragged her from the line of Princess Elia's ladies. Just following orders, of course."

"I – " Arthur started but what could he say? He didn't even know what had happened. Rhaegar hadn't wanted to add to his burdens and now he was completely unarmed for his brother's attacks.

"Your first loyalty was to Dorne, the land you were born in," Arel said, calm and collected once again. "You've made your choice. Now you have to live with it. Take this, just to know what you're living with."

Arthur didn't reach out. His brother crossed the distance and forced Arthur's numb fingers apart to push a piece of parchment between them. Then, he turned and followed his companions out without looking back.

In the sudden silence, all that could be heard was their ragged breathing, Lyanna's muffled sobs and the hissing and crackling of the candles. Arthur opened the parchment and stared at it. A line of names. Errol Gargalen. Inar Allyrion. Gawel Uller and so many others. All dead in the war Arthur was hiding from. _They were my friends_, he wanted to shout, _the boys I grew up with. _Instead, he turned back and left, for that was the only way he could keep his vow. He feared that should he stay, he'd draw Dawn and attack Rhaegar.

Behind him, Lyanna started fumbling with her chair and looking for something to clean her face with. When she couldn't find it, she angrily wiped her face with her palm and rose, shaking. "I am leaving," she announced.

At the door, Arthur barely contained his bitter laughter. So she was leaving _now_? When so many were dead? When the war could no longer be contained no matter what? He barely listened to the exchange of words behind his back – he already knew Rhaegar would not let her go. Not until he had his Prince Who Was Promised and maybe even then.

"Lyanna," Rhaegar said pleadingly. "I was going to tell you…"

She snorted derisively. Arthur could imagine the look she was giving to the one who, up until that very evening, had been her joy and hope. "But you didn't," she said and stumbled in the hallway past Arthur. "Do whatever you want, Rhaegar Targaryen," she snapped. "I am going home."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you keep this story going.

_An Oath to Keep_

Chapter 3

All the way to King's Landing, Rhaegar had imagined how his first meeting with his father would go. He had already exhausted his stock of profanities twice over, calling himself every word for an idiot he knew for not having thought in advance that Brandon Stark would be hotheaded enough to head straight for King's Landing and his father would be insane enough to do something that even their best efforts could not remedy. Even Aerys' fevered imagination could not call him worse than what he called himself. And somehow, he had to convince his father to trust him. He could not tell him about the prophecy, of course, so he had to explain of love and passion and beg for forgiveness and so on. _At least the Starks made it clear that it was no joint plan of ours_, he thought grimly.

But now, when he was so close to the capital, he found himself unable to bear a meeting with his father right now. They had shortened the time their journey would normally take almost twice; his men were as exhausted as him. Rhaegar felt that he was not fit to deal with his father adequately right now. More than anything, he needed rest.

"Open up for the Prince of Dragonstone!" Arthur Dayne shouted at the guards when they stopped their mounts at the huge gates of the Red Keep. In the light of sunset, its scarlet towers looked as if it were burning, sucking the sun in.

Soon, the gates were opened and the weary company made its entrance into a yard full of…

"Dornishmen," Arthur breathed.

"Impossible," Rhaegar said. "Lewyn cannot have arrived this soon… I cannot imagine…"

"Well, it seems Prince Lewyn's abilities exceed even your great imagination, Your Grace," Arthur said coolly.

Rhaegar sighed. Since that terrible visit at the Tower of Joy something between him and Arthur had broken. Arthur himself looked lost to the world, lost to himself. And that shamed Rhaegar, saving the world or not. He could have done it without involving Arthur but then, he had just assumed that since he was so sure of the prophecy, Arthur would be sure too, that he'd do whatever it took to fulfill it without hesitation. He trusted Arthur more than he did anyone else – but he now realized that he had failed to take the other man's feelings into account. Now, Arthur was usually reverent and reserved, obedient to Rhaegar's orders, trying to keep ahead of them when possible – but he never started conversations and rarely had much to say other than "Yes, my prince," or "No, Your Grace". Their friendship was dissolving in front of Rhaegar's very eyes and he was powerless to stop it. He could order Dorne to do whatever he wished – but he could not force Dornishmen to take Arthur back.

It looked that the Dornish lords had arrived only shortly before they had, for there were still stablehands running to take their lathered horses. Rhaegar was about to give the reigns to his own stallion to the nearest one but the murmur that rose made him rethink.

The grim antipathy hit him like a blow. Up until now, he had never seen a crowd that had not cheered for him but the Dornishmen only gave him the dark looks of their dark eyes. Suddenly, Rhaegar was all too aware how things looked from their perspective: they had been brought here to fight for the very man who had disgraced their princess, not honoured the birth of his own son, making rumours run wild that he would disinherit the boy as his heir. Had the old woman thought the same? She had not mentioned it but she was Elia's grandmother, her late father's mother. As old as she was, Daella was quite sharp and she was a Targaryen princess who had seen her fair share of unlikely accessions. Surely such concerns had run through her head multiple times. Rhaegar did not want to think what had run through Doran Martell's mind.

Was it possible that such thoughts had crossed Elia's mind?

"Come on," he said, in a low voice. "We'll dismount in the second yard."

The murmur soon turned to stony silence, the echo of their horses passing the only sound. Their small company of knights was about to close their ranks around them but Rhaegar held up his hand. He would not hide. Next to him, Arthur stared straight ahead, his face fixed even when someone cried out, "A traitorous snake!" and spat in front of him.

All of a sudden, he knew where he needed to be: he had to make things right with his family. He needed to explain to Elia what had transpired and why, to reassure her that her position was not endangered, to see his Prince Who Was Promised…

Rhaegar gritted his teeth when they had to make their way through a line of guards positioned to every entrance to Elia's apartments. The chambers themselves were eerily silent. Elia's ladies-in-waiting, the noblemen she had brought from Dorne who had served at different offices were now kept in her rooms, just like the Lord Commander had said. There was literally not a single empty chamber, yet no one would look at Rhaegar even when they offered their hasty bows and curtsies. The hatred was radiating off them like cold waves.

The first person they encountered in the very heart of Elia's chambers was the Queen who was also just coming in. Rhaegar was aghast to see how thin and aged she had become. It was as if the life had gone out of her. He did not know it was humanly possible to deteriorate so badly in less than a year.

Rhaella took in his appearance with a single sweep of her eyes. Then, she reached out and took his arm. "I assume that now you finally realize that a grievous wrong has been done," she said. "And I don't mean on your father's part alone. Anyway, it can be sorted out later. For now, Elia needs only peace of mind because of late, her life has not been a happy one and her health is still on the brink. Frankly, I don't know how you can manage it but manage it you will. You'll find a way. I won't have you explaining prophecies and relieving your conscience to feel better about yourself right now." Her fingers, so thin that they might snap any minute now, gripped his arm with surprising strength. "Do you understand me, my son?"

He nodded; she released him and stepped back. "If she falls asleep, call Lady Ashara. You'll find her in the antechamber, probably, unless she's with that poor Uller girl. Elia insists to receive news of her health daily. Or if Lady Ashara isn't there, give her some milk. She still can't eat much, so milk it good for her."

She turned back and headed down a hallway. Then, as if she had just been reminded of something, she looked back. "I am going to see the babe," she said. "I thought you might like to see your son."

Rhaegar nodded again. Arthur hesitated. "Am I free to go now, Your Grace?" he asked.

"I suppose you're anxious to see your sister," Rhaegar said. "And since she's with Elia…"

They followed the Queen to the nursery where a little haired boy grinned hugely as soon as he saw Rhaella; when Rhaegar reached out for him, Aegon clung to his grandmother fearfully. As ridiculous as it was, Rhaegar felt rejected when he knew that, rationally, Aegon would fear him. He had never seen him before. But soon enough, the babe calmed down enough to let Rhaegar take him without crying. He was warm and sweet-smelling, his hair molten silver, his eyes a bright shade of purple. The Prince Who Was Promised. The song of ice and fire. It was next to impossible to imagine that this little boy would one day be the savior of the world, yet Rhaegar had no trouble seeing him as he would become: broad-shouldered, his hair cropped, his eyes even brighter on the sun-bronzed face while all around the Seven Kingdoms, crowds would acclaim him.

He sighed. For now, he had to win for this future to come to pass. He had to face his father and his wife. He couldn't say which one scared him worse.

In Elia's bedchamber, Ashara Dayne rose and her eyes went immediately to Aegon. Rhaegar could feel her suppressing the urge to grab the child from his arms and clutch it protectively even as she dropped into a curtsy. _Protectively?_ Against Aegon's own father?

In the great bed, Elia was asleep. Rhaegar had been notified that the birth had nearly killed her but somehow, he hadn't expected to see her so sick yet. "She lost too much blood," Ashara helpfully informed him. "And some of her joints had been displaced. She can move but sometimes, the pain becomes so strong that she needs some milk of poppy."

"Thank you, my lady," Rhaegar said. "For tending to her so loyally."

Ashara gave him a look of pure puzzlement. "It is my duty," she said curtly. "And I am true to my word, unlike some others I might name."

She had always been cheeky but this time, her impertinence was shocking. Was she so daring because her brother was here? Did she believe that Arthur would protect her from Rhaegar?

Would Arthur cross Rhaegar on her behalf? A few weeks ago, the answer would have been a firm no. Now, Rhaegar didn't know.

Ashara, however, was making a point of not looking at her brother. Since Arthur wouldn't force her into a conversation, Rhaegar decided to help him out. "Is Lord Dayne among the Dornishmen who arrived here under Lewyn's command?" he asked.

Ashara nodded. "He's not quartered in the Red Keep, though," she said. "I wasn't allowed to see him but I think he isn't the best of company right now. He's still dealing with his loss," she added, giving Arthur a very pointed look.

He swallowed, stayed silent. It fell to Rhaegar to ask. He did so, reluctantly, knowing beforehand that whatever it was, it would only cause Arthur further pain. "What loss?" he asked.

"His lady wife passed away about two months ago," Ashara replied. "She… fell down the stairs and broke her neck, it seems. I wanted to go back to Starfall for a while but His Grace did not deem it wise."

Now Lord Dayne's words made sense. His father was keeping the Dornish hostages. Rhaegar blushed with shame.

Ashara went on, her voice suddenly less barbed. "It isn't just that. There are some terrible rumours…"

Her voice faded and Rhaegar looked at her, astounded that she'd be bothered by rumours. Sometimes, he could swear she _enjoyed_ causing them.

Suddenly, Arthur made a step towards his sisters, so his face was now very close to hers. "What do you mean, "terrible rumours"? Have they suspected Arel in regards to Lady Shanai's death?"

There was an ominous silence. Then, Ashara whispered, horrified, "Yes."

Arthur turned pale. Then, he burst out, "That's ridiculous! Those gossipers are a bunch of fools! To suspect Arel in kil…" He seemed to bite his tongue at saying the word.

"They say that he kil…" Ashara stammered because she couldn't say the unthinkable either.

Arthur closed his eyes. Rhaegar knew better than saying something. Aegon felt the tension in the chamber and started mewling. Ashara reached for him but Rhaegar stepped back. The child soon calmed down.

Suddenly, Ashara looked away. Straight at Elia's bed. It seemed that in those long months, she had become attuned to Elia's slightest movements. And sure, just a moment later Elia's eyes cracked open just a slit, then wider. They were dark and burning, yet glassy, somewhere between the haze of dream and the haze of poppymilk. She looked at the window where Ashara stood and a soft smile lit her face. "You are my soul," she murmured dreamily before falling asleep once again, with the smile still on her lips. Rhaegar wondered to what dream she had been talking to. He was relieved that she was still able to dream.

A few minutes later, she opened her eyes once again and they were clear, fixed straight on Rhaegar with surprise, disappointment, anger, betrayal. He never wanted to see this look again.

Behind him, Arthur and Ashara left.

He was now alone with his lady wife – for a first time in almost a year.


	4. Chapter 4

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_An Oath to Keep_

Chapter 4

For a long moment, Elia stared at him silently. Then, her face became blank all of a sudden. She turned her head aside and snuggled back against the pillow, as if he wasn't there at all, as if she couldn't bear to look at him.

Rhaegar hesitated. "Elia, I…"

Still, she wouldn't look at him.

What could he say to make her understand? How should he start? With explanations? With begging forgiveness?

"Elia, I came back," he said. "May the Mother bless you. You gave me a son and he's perfect."

She slowly turned back, her eyes not on him but the child in his arms, as if she had just now realized that he was holding it. She didn't smile as she had done when he had visited her after Rhaenys' birth.

"What a scoundrel you are," she said evenly. "How dare you behave as if he's a newborn? What are you thinking, that the potions have made me forgetful?"

She sat up, undid the laces of her shift and reached for the babe; for a moment, Rhaegar thought she would try to avoid touching his hands as she did so. She didn't. She took Aegon and placed him to the breast, staring down at him.

Rhaegar expected further questions, further accusations, but it seemed that for Elia, the entire world had shrunken to the soft silver head at her breast.

Moments passed, and then some. He felt relieved and even a bit stupid for expecting Elia to lash out at him. She didn't have it in her. She was too gentle.

"Aegon," he said. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you write him a song?"

Her voice still held that even hollowness but the words themselves were neutral.

"He has a song," he said. "He is the prince who was promised and his is the song of ice and fire."

Elia recoiled in horror. "There must be one more," Rhaegar tried to explain. "The dragon has three heads."

She laughed then, harsh and bitter, and derisive. Aegon lifted his head and whimpered. She made some soothing noises and soon, he calmed down and kept suckling.

Elia looked back at Rhaegar. "I suppose that's why you took her?" she asked. "How very convenient! Your new wife, so young, and strong, and fertile. And she just happened to be the little wolf-girl you humiliated me for?"

The scorn in her voice was scathing, although she didn't have strength to voice it more loudly. Rhaegar blushed. "Elia, it was never my intention to hurt you."

She stared at him, stunned. "Well, _what_ was your intention then? Don't tell me you didn't think that your actions would hurt me. You can't be this stupid, now, can you?"

He stared back at her, equally stunned. He had been called many things throughout his life – a dreamer, a fighter, the hope of the Seven Kingdoms. He had been called romantic and melancholic. Too peace-loving. But never stupid. And this of Elia? Sweet Elia who never raised her voice even to her servants? Elia who took care to ask how her ill handmaidens were faring? Elia who saw good in everyone?

"Let me explain."

"Oh please, do keep your explanations for yourself," she snapped. "If you can do something about my fellow Dornishmen and women here, do it. Let them go home. They… they only came here to serve me. And I cannot protect them. They aren't the ones to blame that I cannot please you."

"Don't say that! There's nothing about you that displeases me."

Elia smiled bitterly. "Really? The wrong hair colour, the wrong eye colour, not healthy enough to satisfy you, not beautiful enough for you to crown, too stupid if you think you can _explain_ this to me… need I go on?"

Dark blush had crept up her neck and pale cheeks. Her eyes were burning. Aegon whimpered again and she moved him to the other breast.

"Let them go, Rhaegar," she said softly, her anger abating for now. "Speak to your father. I don't care what you'd do. But let them out. I failed them already. I cannot fail them once again."

Shame burned all the way through Rhaegar's body, from head to toes. He had heard the Lord Commander's explanation as to what had happened but it had been easy to postpone for later, to keep fulfilling the prophecy in the Tower of Joy. Now the reality was here, in Elia's haunted expression. "No," he said. "Elia, you weren't the one to blame. Blame my father. Blame me, if you want to…"

"I want to," she said, her eyes flashing angrily. "Who do you think you are, speaking soothing words to me as if I were a child in need of comfort? How dare you patronize me as if I am broken? Jaline is disfigured, Rhaegar! Disfigured! They had her skin burnt away in ribbons! She can hardly walk, for her feet are burnt. She cannot feed herself, for the burns on her hands are too fresh. She doesn't even look human any more. And yes, it's your fault. It's also mine because I tried to make your father listen to reason when he started burning his Hands. He wasn't mad enough to lay a finger on me but Jaline was another matter. She paid for my 'insolence', as he called it. The Lord Commander himself took her out from amidst my ladies, may he burn in the seven hells. He's as mad as your father, just so you know. But then, you wouldn't know, now, would you? If you were sane, you wouldn't have thought for a moment that disappearing with the girl was a good idea."

Aegon stirred and Elia sighed, taking him away from her breast. "I am sorry, my sweet," she murmured. "I am not being very nice today, am I? Am I troubling you?"

She looked at Rhaegar. "Have him taken to the nursery," she said. "He can feel the tension here and it makes him anxious.

Silently, he took the child from her and carried him out.

In the antechamber, Arthur and Ashara talked in hushed tense voices. Judging by the broken look in Arthur's eyes, he stood accused as well.

Ashara turned to Rhaegar and took Aegon with a low, "Your Grace" before heading for the nursery. Arthur stood where he was, wearing an expression of wretched misery. Dejected, Rhaegar returned to the bedchamber where Elia sat upright, her eyes no more forgiving than before.

"I'll do my best to have them all released," he said softly. "And Lady Jaline will have the best husband that can be found. I swear it."

Elia laughed at this, ugly and maliciously. "You swear? Please don't. I've had enough of King's Landing vows. She deserves better…"

He started pacing but when he reached the far wall and turned back, he realized that she was not looking at him which would be the most natural reaction. Her hair fell down, hiding her face – a fragile shield but a shield nonetheless. He felt a pang in his heart. From now on, it would be forever like this. The warmth he so treasured in her was gone.

"Will you set me aside?" she asked, all of a sudden.

Stunned, he could only stare.

"Well?" Elia insisted. "Will you?"

"Elia, what sort of question is this?"

She shrugged. "A very reasonable one, I would think."

Had she really thought that he would…? That he'd disgrace her so? That he'd do this to their children, his heads of the dragon? Had everyone else thought it? He had only meant to make Lyanna his second wife, nothing more.

"No," he said.

"Good," Elia replied. "Because if you try such a thing…" For a moment, there was a savage flash in her eyes. "If you ever try such a thing, don't hold me responsible for the consequences, Rhaegar."

He recoiled. This was not Elia. Elia was gentle and kind, compassionate toward everybody. But she would not show him a hint of compassion.

"I have wronged you," he said suddenly, softly. "And for this, I am sorry. But the world needs…"

"I don't care what the world needs!" she spat. "I only know that my needs did not confront the needs of the world so very much. They were very simple, indeed: don't humiliate me. Don't disrespect me. Don't run away with another woman without sending word. Don't leave me and our child with this mad father of yours. And don't let my family and entourage pay the price for your folly."

To this, he was silent, for what could he say?

"Now, go," she said. "I don't want to see you for a moment longer than is strictly necessary."

His hands clenched into fists. Who did she think she was? No matter his faults, without him, she was nothing. How did she dare…

"You will accept me," he said coldly. "You will accept me in your chambers and in your bed each time I want to come. I am your husband. And we have children who bind us together."

Elia paled, the very idea of it sickening her, obviously. But she managed to get a hold of herself, her hands gripping the bedcover. "You silver fool," she said softly, all anger leaving her voice. Instead, there was something like… pity? "You presume that I was overjoyed at having you in my bed. You presume that it was you and only you I wanted to be bound to by having children with…"

He could not believe it. He had expected it to be bad but not this bad. And he had never expected that she'd be as brave as to express her disdain in such a way.

"Do you hate me so very much?" he asked.

"Does she? Your little wolf?" Elia replied, and he wanted to strike her, make her take the words back. How could she know? How could she know of Lyanna's screams and vows to hate him forever, and how she wished she had never left with him? How could she know that he had had to bodily restrain her from leaving the Tower of Joy that did not bring joy any more?

"I'll pray to the Seven to keep you alive," his wife said and Rhaegar could hear what she didn't bother to say aloud: she'd pray for his life because that would mean life to her children, too, and herself. With Aerys, they were no longer safe here.

"I'll have your people released," he assured her and left, for there was nothing that they could say to each other.

Outside, Ashara and Arthur waited silently. The young woman hurried to the bedchamber as soon as Rhaegar left. Arthur looked at him and asked, "Am I to accompany you, Your Grace?"

Rhaegar took in his friend's haunted expression, his sagged shoulders, the bleak despair in his eyes. "No," he said. "Stay here and guard my wife. From everyone," he added and emphasized. "_Anyone._"

Arthur nodded.

In the bedchamber, Ashara sat silently in her chair while Elia stared at the candle, the last few years of her life passing before her eyes, her hopes and dreams crumbling, finally. The intensity of her hatred for Rhaegar stunned her. She had never loved him – in the beginning, she had tolerated him, then she had grown fond of him, then she had become disappointed with him and now she was surprised to realize just how much she hated him. And still, there was some pity in her heart. She knew that he had meant well, that he was shocked at the way things had gone. But her pity was as feeble as candle next to the bright fire of her hatred. She had never thought herself capable of feeling such hatred.

All of a sudden, a thought came to her mind. With shame, she realized that she had been so wrapped in self-pity that she had forgotten what she had been planning for days and weeks, what really mattered.

"Bring Arthur to my solar," she said and Ashara hurried to obey.

Elia called for her handmaidens and donned the plainest gown she owned. With displeasure, she saw how loose fitting it had become. She was struggling to eat so she could nurse Aegon – but it was not enough to keep her healthy.

In her solar, she found only Arthur and Ashara – all the others had left. _They don't want to have anything to do with Arthur_, she thought. In truth, she'd rather not have anything to do with him, either, but now she needed him.

His face was ashen, his eyes sunken. He could not bring himself to look at her. He was ashamed_. He should well be_, Elia told herself. Still, it was good to see that beneath his Kingsguard vows that had made him accompany Rhaegar in his folly he was still Ser Arthur Dayne of Dorne. She could put that to use.

"My princess," he said and bowed. "I cannot express…"

"Cut it down, Arthur," she interjected with bluntness that was not typical of her. "What happened did happen and you cannot make amends. Now I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

"My cousin Alynna is in King's Landing," Elia said and sat down, gesturing at him to take a seat near her. True, there were only Dornishmen and women in her chambers and Ashara stood guard at the door but the words should not leave this solar anyway, so they'd better be careful. "Alynna Gargalen. Her husband was killed in the Battle of Summerhall."

"I know," Arthur said and sat down next to her, reluctantly. Ashara had already told him how at hearing the news of her uncle and cousins' deaths, Elia had fainted. But she had not mentioned anything about Alynna Gargalen being at King's Landing. "Why should she be here? I can't believe Errol took her to battle."

She looked annoyed. "He didn't take her to battle," she said. "She was trying to get back to Dorne after visiting with her mother's family. The battle came across her, or the other way around. Obviously, she was caught and brought to Lord Grandison in his retreat. He recognized her and since it was already known that no Dornish could leave the Red Keep, he decided that the King should be delighted to have her as well. She managed to escape somewhere between the city gates and the Red Keep. They are still looking for her, on His Grace's explicit orders." Elia paused. "She's with child, you know."

Arthur was not a cowardly man but now he shuddered. A child who was already an orphan, a child of despair, a child that might not be born at all. He was suddenly remembered of all the babes his goodsister had not managed to birth alive.

"She's out there somewhere," Elia went on. "She must be very scared. And I am powerless to help her. We are all kept under close watch. You, on the other hand… You are the Sword of the Morning. You are Rhaegar's closest friend. I don't think anyone could try to stop you."

_Would they_? Arthur wondered.

"Find Alynna," Elia said. "Help her."

Arthur's first thought was to protest, to say that he could not possibly aid the lady if the King wanted her captured. And then, he felt sick. He had vowed to obey the King but he had also vowed to help the defenseless. Who was more defenseless than a widow or an expectant mother? Now, Alynna Gargalen was both.

The two vows clashed in his mind like swords. He closed his eyes, tried to resolve the conflict, and couldn't. Outside, a storm started raging in rhythm with the turmoil in his heart.

Who should he listen to? His King or his sense of justice? Which oath was the valid one – the one he had sworn in the throne room, or the one he had sworn at receiving his knighthood from the hands of Lord Gargalen, Lady Alynna's uncle?

"Help her," Elia said again, and there was a pleading note to her voice that shook him to the core, for as sickly and meek as she was, Elia Martell never pleaded.

Suddenly, he felt a hand touching his. "I am so sorry," Elia whispered.

"Yes," he sighed without opening his eyes. "So am I."

For a moment, they stayed silent. As odd as it was, he felt at peace now. He could say that she felt the pain in his heart, his regrets, his loneliness, his despair – and he didn't even try to hide them. Briefly, he wondered whether she rejoiced in them. After all, he had betrayed her. Surely that was how she took it?

"Do you hate me now?" he asked, as Rhaegar had.

Elia was surprised by the question. "No," she said. "Of course not."

And then she wondered why it should be obvious. She had hated him for a while, although she had known that he had only followed orders. But he was of Dorne, her childhood friend, her companion from those later days at Sunspear. She had felt resentful and angry, till this very day.

He opened his eyes and gave her that intent look that had stolen her breath once. "They all blame me, you know," he said. "For leaving you here. All of you. For going with him for the wolf girl, instead of protecting you from the King's whims. And they have the right of it."

"They do," she agreed, her hand still on his. She had shared those feelings until this very night. But she hated seeing him so crestfallen. She had hoped he'd have some regrets – but she had never wanted him to sink so low.

"I lost Dorne," he said simply, looking aside. "They made it clear – Lord Gargalen, and my brother, and now my sister. Dorne has forsaken me justly."

She clasped his hand more tightly. He looked at her once again. "And what about you?" he asked. "Elia of Dorne, do you forsake me?"

She did not hesitate. "No, I don't."

Now, it was him who grasped her hands, a flicker of joy mingling with regrets. "Maybe you should," he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Elia shook her head. "Never."

Outside, the storm kept howling. A curtain of heavy clouds hid the sky as they gave themselves to the kiss they had been longing for in years, one that no more tasted of blood oranges and hope but salt and regret.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you keep me inspired.

_An Oath to Keep_

Chapter 5

It was eerie and dark in the Red Keep. No one dared roam the halls at night any more and besides, it was now only Dornishmen and women in Elia's chambers. It was safe, yet it was better not to linger. Elia took his hand and led the way.

In this late hour, they didn't encounter anybody. Elia opened the last door and Arthur hesitated briefly. Up until earlier today, he had never entered her bedchamber. But when she gave him a long questioning look and moved to close the door in front of him, he made a step without thinking. A moment later, they stood in the center of her room – alone and so close that he could smell the scent of her perfume, heavy and exotic, with the touch of sea. It was a perfume many Dornishwomen wore and no one else, and suddenly he was back home, with the Dornish steed beneath him, the hot desert air lashing at his face, the sea smooth and luminous in front of him as it always was when he stared at it from the Palestone Sword, so different from the cold mass of dull water he saw here at King's Landing, and the murmur of the waterworks in the Water Gardens music to his ears. He reached and touched her lips, traced them with his finger. They were ice-cold and he shuddered. It was not right, it was all wrong. The coldness of King's Landing should have never quenched the warmth of the Dornish princess of the sun, the warmth he had always taken for granted.

Elia stepped back and tugged at his hand. "Come on," she murmured, leading him to the far end of the room.

It was clear that she was afraid of the two of them being seen but why if there was no one here_? It's the window_, Arthur realized. If they had stayed where they were a moment before, their frames would have been silhouetted against the curtain, so someone could have seen from the garden.

When she let go of his hand, he caught her fingers anew.

Still silent, Elia reached for his cloak and this time, it was she who hesitated. "What?" he asked.

"Are you sure?" she asked softly, her eyes wide and uncertain.

He shook his head. "I am no longer sure of anything," he murmured.

He had been so certain of his life and values before.

She stepped back and he felt utterly bereft. She looked him in the eye. "Be sure of that, Arthur," she said and he felt the pain radiating off her, the echo of betrayal committed by another man who had not desired her – and had not hesitated to make it clear for the entire realm to see.

He reached for her hands and raised them to the clasp of his cloak. "Sure of you, Elia," he murmured. "Always sure of you."

It was not true; in those first months, all the way through the first year of her marriage, he had lain in his lonely bed, wondering whether she was truly happy now. Standing duty in front of this same bedchamber when Rhaegar visited at night had been worse. For a while, he had feared that she might be falling in love with her husband and despised himself for this feeling. But now, as he was staring at those dark, dark eyes, he believed that he had been sure of her. Elia believed it, too. She had longed for so long for this love, for this moment. And now, in this time of trial, she needed someone to believe in her, she needed it more than ever. She needed something she could cling to, something to prevent her from falling apart. And despite her will, despite her best efforts, he was this thing. He always had been.

And still, she wavered. Her eyes were shining with longing and fear that was almost as strong. Her cheeks suddenly flushed. Arthur could feel the rushing of his own blood, too, the shaking of her fingers against the white cloak.

"Don't speak like this," she finally said. "You know me, Arthur, and you know that to me, some words are absolute."

"They are absolute to me, too," he replied.

After a final hesitation, she unclasped the cloak and it fell on the floor, startlingly white against the carpet painted in dark by the fire that was the only source of light in the room. Arthur was surprised at the profound relief he felt, as if he had not shrugged off a cloak but a mountain. The oaths were suddenly so immaterial. Why had he tormented himself so over them? _Whatever is on my shoulders_, _I can take off_, he thought as he reached for the ribbon holding her hair; the dark curls tumbled over his shoulders, black and lustrous like a Dornish night. _But what is in my heart, I cannot pull out. A damned thing, heart is. This is how it's made._

In the soft caress of the firelight, they silently stripped the garments off each other. Elia traced his scars with her lips one by one and stood straight, staring at him, letting him stare at her.

He had known that she'd be slender but he had failed to realize how wasted she truly was. It turned out that her gowns had hidden a good part of her painful gauntness. He could count her ribs, her arms and legs had wasted to bare skin covering sticks and there was something slightly out of proportion in the line of her hips. Arthur wondered whether the maesters had noticed, whether it had been one of the reasons they had told Rhaegar that she could not bear any more children safely. _Hardly likely_, he thought bitterly. _Such a thing doesn't kill and the maesters were, no doubt, more concerned about her life and fertility than her mobility._ And Rhaegar would have had no time to realize that she had suffered some king of.. . distortion. Not when he was so intent on chasing this prophecy of his. Suddenly, it became clear to Arthur why Elia still spent so much time abed or seated…

In the orange glow of the firelight, he saw the marks. Her belly was concave, yet the marks were there, dark and angry, and so deep and numerous that they looked like furrows. She looked as if a sword had cut her multiple times. _How did she survive these pregnancies at all_, Arthur wondered, awed.

She took his expression the wrong way and stepped aside, in the shadow, as if she wanted to hide her body. As if she were ashamed. He took her face between his palms. "You're so very beautiful," he whispered.

Elia shook his head and smiled ruefully. "Not any more. White cloak is beautiful, remember? Honour is beautiful."

"Courage is beautiful, too, and of that, you have plenty," he replied, very gently, before kneeling before her to kiss the marks reverently.

_Please_, Elia thought. _Please let it be true._ No one had told her that she was beautiful in years – not sincerely, not as if they meant it. She was too dark, too unusual for King's Landing. And her frail health did her looks no favours, either. _Please let it be true._

He rose and carried her to bed, placed her on the sheets as carefully as if she would break. Then, he hesitated. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I am not going to hurt you?"

Now that he had seen firsthand the toll the two childbirths had taken of her, he was scared that simply by being with her, he might do her harm.

She smiled and lifted her eyes to his. "No," she murmured back. "You only need to be gentle."

He lay next to her and started caressing her hair, the line of her nose, her lips, her breasts. What had he ever done to deserve her? What had he done to earn basking in her warmth? She was not so cold now. In fact, her skin was rapidly becoming feverish. He supposed his did, too.

"We aren't in the Red Keep any more," Elia murmured.

He looked down at her and smiled in those black eyes. She hated this place as much as he did – yet something else they had in common. "Where are we?" he asked. "In the Water Gardens?"

"There. And the Tower of the Sun," she said, sliding her hands down his back. "In Starfall, too."

She drew his head lower for a kiss. "I am Dorne," she murmured. "And Dorne accepts you… for tonight."

Much later, as they lay in each other's arms, she looked at him pleadingly. "Will you help me?" she asked. "Will you help her?"

For a moment, he didn't realize what she was talking about. For a while, he had forgotten that there was a war raging out of their enchanted world, a war that still claimed both dead and living. "Was it because of that?" he asked, mildly curious, not quite believing his own words. "Is this why you accepted me? So I'd help your cousin?"

Elia should have nestled closer and assured him that it was not so. Instead, she only smiled. "You know that it wasn't," she said. "That's why you came."

She went silent, looking at him expectantly. The fire had started burning low and it was cold in the bedchamber. He held her closer and tried to remember the last time he had been warm. When he had learned that she would live after Aegon's birth… When the White Bull had chosen him to cede command to in the fight with the Brotherhood…

"So be it," he sighed. The white cloak had brought him nothing but regrets and self-hatred. Were they worth the moments of triumph after a victory in a tournament, after defeating the Brotherhood, after being referred to as the finest knight alive? A year ago, he would have said so. He stared at the dark shapes the fire cast over the walls and thought of the words Lord Gargalen had told him at their last meeting before that nightmarish clash in the Tower of Joy. Arthur had been to leave Dorne for King's Landing the very next day in search of adventures and making something out of himself, with the newly won Dawn slung over his back. _"You show a great promise, Arthur,"_ his foster father, Elia and Alynna's uncle had said. _"Do not squander it away. And remember that: no matter how the world plays you, your conscience will forever be yours alone. With the passing of time, you won't be able to tell yourself, "But I was only following orders!" It won't wash. Believe me, it won't. Take it from someone who knows. And if it ever does… the more's the pity."_

Elia looked at him, surprised. She had been expecting more of a conflict. Arthur held his oaths in such a high esteem.

"I'll keep the first oath, the one that all others were built upon," he explained. _The one I swore when I did know what it would demand of me_. "That I'd always help those who are defenseless." He sighed, hating the thought of the daring Alynna who had been the terror of the water pools and later refused a crown for love now falling into this category. "And I'd better start now. Soon, the servants will wake up."

* * *

It sounded so good and easy when he said it; in reality, it was near impossible. Arthur had no friends at King's Landing, at least none who would dare defy the King in any way now. In another time, he would have asked Rhaegar for help without thinking twice but not now… and not when it was Doran Martell's first cousin he was looking for. Arthur felt that after the clash in the Tower of Joy, Rhaegar might agree with his father's decision to keep her here to use against Doran.

What was there for him to do? He could hardly start roaming the streets of King's Landing and stare at every dark-haired woman.

He could not trust his sworn brothers either. Not now. He had regarded the Lord Commander so highly, yet Ser Gerold had physically led a young woman, a lady who had done no wrong, to a fate Arthur shuddered to imagine – just because of his vows. He would probably drag Alynna by the hair to deliver to Aerys, not caring whether she was giving birth right at the moment. Arthur still took his orders from the White Bull and performed to his best but he no longer admired the man. He was absolutely disgusted with him and scared that somehow, he'd let it show.

And if Gerold Hightower could sink so low, what about the others? What about Jonothor Darry? He had done nothing to deserve Arthur's suspicions yet but the young Dornishman had no desire to see Lady Alynna paying the price if he was wrong.

Barristan? Arthur dismissed the idea from the very beginning.

Lewyn? Could he…? Arthur shook his head and darkly concluded that his mental state was getting precarious if he was asking himself whether Prince Lewyn would help a fellow Dornishwoman or betray her to the King. But Lewyn was held in suspicion, too – even more than Arthur himself. He should not get involved.

That left Arthur with one choice alone. Not the best choice, maybe, and a choice he might not make, after all, but that was all he had.

Or not, as it turned out, because young Jaime was not on duty – and he was not in the White Sword Tower either. Arthur had just reconciled with the idea that he would have to wait for him the next time their schedules coincided when an accidental word from a handmaiden told him where he might find the youngest member of the Kingsguard.

Still not quite convinced, Arthur headed for the Circle Garden and sure, as soon as he approached, his eye was attracted by a golden head. There was already quite a big bunch of flowers on the path between the flowerbeds: red roses, bright gazenias, salvias in different hues of blue and red. Arthur did not know the names of the other flowers Jaime was so diligently picking.

"Well met, brother," he said.

Jaime immediately rose, startled, still holding a smaller bunch of flowers in his arms. A flush crept down his cheeks – the curse of fair-skinned people.

The boy's embarrassment amused Arthur but briefly. He hadn't seen Jaime in almost a year and he didn't like what he saw. The boy looked all grown up now but there was something about the finely chiseled lines of his face and the grim set of his mouth that showed Arthur newfound knowledge of things Jaime Lannister would rather not know. The flash of genuine joy in the green eyes was immediately replaced by a guarded look of caution. Arthur was well aware that Jaime was in awe of him, just like he had been in awe of Lord Gargalen, and he felt sad. Not because the loss of a boy's worship was something that hurt but because he knew how hard it was to get accustomed to a world with no heroes in it. And in all probability, Jaime's waking to this truth had been much harsher than Arthur's own.

"What do we have here?" Arthur asked lightly, looking at the flowers. "Is there a special lady you intend to give them to?"

Jaime did not smile back. "She's very special," he said, and there was a defiant gleam to his eyes. "Her name is Jaline. She's been having some… troubles…"

Arthur stared at him with sad wonder. _What would you know about troubles, with the sheltered life you led before, boy? What have you seen while I was away? What changed you so thoroughly?_ Shame and regret burned through him: while he had been guarding Dorne's dishonour, Jaime Lannister had struggled to do the Dornishmen and women here the little good he could. Arthur knew that Jaline could only lie on her back or belly – the maesters turned her repeatedly – and that the bandages covering her face and shading her eyes probably did not let her see anything. Jaime probably knew it, too. That was why he was picking flowers – so she could inhale their scent. Such a small kindness, yet one that touched Arthur. Jaime had showed no interest in court ladies before. Arthur suspected that he knew how the boy had learned Lady Jaline's name.

"That's very kind of you," he said. "As it happens, I know the lady. She will certainly appreciate it."

Jaime's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here?" he asked bluntly. "I suppose it isn't because you wanted to talk about flowers?"

"No," Arthur said. "Let's go to the White Tower. And don't leave the flowers behind," he added.

* * *

Two days later, the first results came. Jaime Lannister had gone here and there in the Red Keep, courteous and polite but firmly demanding payment of old debts due to Lord Tywin. Some tried to delay, others blatantly refused but the end was more than satisfying to both Jaime and Arthur: some Gold Cloaks looked through the city, others were dissuaded of looking for Lady Alynna in certain quarters where they were more likely to find her, and finally, word came of a midwife who boasted of a woman wanting to engage her discreetly to attend her for a few weeks in a dingy inn. And she had given her a golden dragon, promising another one after the ordeal was over.

"And of course, she blabbered all about it when she drank just a little," Jaime said, derisively. "I hope, for the lady's sake, that she would be sober when she goes to attend her."

_Alynna won't be here to be attended by a drunken midwife_, Arthur thought but he still had no idea how far along she was. It was entirely possible that she was due any day now. She might not be fit to travel at all. "I'll see for myself tomorrow," he said, ready to break his vow for one last time, for he doubted that the safe delivery of Lady Alynna's child was the King's wish.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to everyone who reviewed.

_An Oath To Keep_

Chapter 6

The dead man stared at them with unblinking eyes, his cloak more grey than gold, his hair caked by his lying in the mud. Arthur only cursed under his breath and leaned over to inspect the wound on his chest as best as he could in the dim moonlight.

"It's a sword," Jaime Lannister said, unnecessarily. "Are you sure the lady needs our help?" he asked. "She seems to be quite good at taking care of herself. This is the second gold cloak looking for her that turns up dead, not to mention the three who were wounded. Hey, where are you going?" he added to the old woman who was trying to step back unobtrusively. "You thought to leave us?"

The graying woman returned, reluctantly, cursing inwardly the woman and the two young men – some rich lords, by the looks of them, - as well as her own greed to make a few additional coins. She had only been vexed at being dismissed, although she had been allowed to keep the dark woman's dragon. The woman had found a new midwife – a better one than Mora, obviously, and she was offended, so she had agreed to take them to the woman's new lair. Stumbling down a corpse had never been in her plans. She looked nervously around. No one was in a great hurry to take the corpse, although the quarter was at least semi-decent. With the preparations for the army leaving, the city watch had become quite careless… _And she looked so timid and scared_, Mora thought, scathingly.

"That's nonsense," Arthur snapped. "I've known her for years. The only weapon she knows how to use is her dagger, and they were not so stupid as to let her near enough to strike. This is… this is…"

But he didn't know what had happened, either.

"Come on," he said. "We'll keep going."

They waded through the mud of the alley that soon bespattered their brown cloaks, keeping an eye on the woman. Even in this late hour, there was much noise, shouts, and drunken laughter from the taverns. The stench of vomit and unwashed bodies came from all directions because there were early drunkards trying to find their way home and some were snoring near the walls of the houses. But at least there were no sounds of brawls from the taverns, although from many doors, discussions came in loud voices. Of course, most of them were about the war.

"I'm telling you, it's the entire kingdom against the throne," someone claimed from the inn on their right.

"Not quite," another man argued. "The Tyrrels are still the King's supporters."

"But they are losing their time at Storm's End while the battle will be fought elsewhere. Is the Northern girl so pretty?"

"They say she is," a third voice broke in. "His poor wife. But really, what could she expect, being always sick and _Dornish_."

Arthur's hand went to the hilt of the sword he carried. It was an ordinary sword, for he could not risk carrying Dawn – but oh, how he would have delighted in sticking it down the man's throat. Jaime gave him a warning look.

Finally, they went to a broader street where the houses were bigger and the road cleaner. The inns looked cleaner. Arthur wondered why Alynna had dared move there. Sure, a more decent place was something every woman would prefer since it would offer her greater comforts in the hard hour that could come any day now – but here, it would be easier for her hunters to track her down.

"Here it is," the woman said, pointing at a green door. Under the torchlight coming through the open door the big sign, Arthur saw a yellow feather. "_The Golden Feather_, it's named."

"Are you sure about this?" Jaime asked. He and Arthur shared a look. It would be really daring of Alynna Gargalen to come to such a big and well-visited inn…

Mora nodded vigorously. Arthur handed her a golden dragon. "And don't breath a word to anyone," he warned.

"I won't," she promised and bolted into the nearest alley.

"Yes, until your next drinking," Jaime murmured skeptically. "Do you really think she's here?" he asked.

"We have but one way to find out," Arthur said and they headed for the stream of light. In the big hall, there was not a single free table. The delicious smell of roasted beef teased their senses. Arthur held his breath as he recognized the faces around the table that was currently being served.

"What a fool I am," he murmured. "Of course she came here."

A few minutes later, they were already knocking at the door that, to their surprise, opened almost immediately.

"What is…" the young man at the door started and then paused as he took in their faces. His voice changed, became colder. "What are you doing here?"

Arthur immediately put his foot in the opening between the door and doorcase, so his brother would not slam the door in his face. "Can I come in?"

"No," Arel said.

"Please."

"Just go away, Arthur. Don't you understand that you aren't welcome?"

Arthur lowered his voice. "Is she here?"

Arel sighed and his demeanor changed all of a sudden. He stepped aside to let them in, although his hand went to the sheath of his dagger. It was obvious that the only reason he had let them in was his reluctance to have this conversation in the hallway.

The room was furnished quite comfortably, with a big table, a settee and a few chairs. Their eyes immediately went to the closed door of the adjacent bedchamber. There was a faint unpleasant smell in the room that they tried not to notice.

Arel didn't invite them to take seats. Instead, he asked harshly, "Why are you here? To drag her to the Red Keep?" He looked at them and his eyes lingered on Arthur's sword but he didn't ask the question.

Arthur felt sick. Arel really meant it. He considered him capable of dragging a helpless woman they had known for decades and deliver her to the madness reigning in the Red Keep if so ordered. _How could it have come to this?_ "No," he said simply. "I am here to help. Princess Elia…"

To his surprise, Arel only studied him and then nodded. "I see. Princess Elia," he said. "It makes sense. So you've managed to track her here and took your young friend… who are you, in fact?" The question was addressed to Jaime, in icy tone. "One of my new selves?"

Jaime blinked. "One of your…"

"A Kingsguard," Arel elaborated. "One of Arthur new _brothers_. You know, the ones he takes lessons in standing mute in the face of disgrace with."

"This is Jaime Lannister," Arthur said. "And you're going too far, Arel. He tried to protect our people within the Red Keep and did his best to relieve their situation… especially for Jaline."

Arel paused. Jaime expected another caustic remark – he was starting to see why Ser Arthur felt so at ease with Oswell Whent's dark humour. Instead, he was surprised when the Dornishman sighed. "I'm sorry, Lannister," he said. "I'm afraid I'm not the most polite person as of late. Thank you."

He looked at the door of the adjacent chamber and then back at them. "Would you sit down?"

They did.

"Ashara? The Princess?" Arel asked curtly and poured two more goblets of wine they accepted gratefully. Arthur noticed that there was no food on the table. Anyway, Arel looked like a man who had forgotten to eat for the last few months. Shame burned through Arthur again.

"They are both as fine as they could be," he said. "The Prince is trying to convince his father to let our people go."

Arel didn't say a word, yet there was something in his violet eyes that made Arthur cringe. Did he have people of his own now? _He isn't one of us_, Arel had said at the Tower of Joy.

"That's good," Arel said. "I'll try to see Ashara before we go…"

"What about Alynna?" Arthur asked. "She's here, isn't she? She's in that room."

"She found me the night we arrived."

She had begged him for help. And of course, Arel wouldn't have refused her. They had both known her since children and besides, Arel was… had been best friends with her late husband. Arthur was quite embarrassed that this possibility hadn't occurred to him.

"She has to leave immediately," he said. "The King is looking for her."

"I know," Arel confirmed.

"I suppose you do," Jaime murmured, downing his goblet. "People who were trying to capture her started dying left and right. I suppose you don't have anything to do with it?"

Arel shrugged. In the candlelight he looked too pale, even for him, and concern made his violet eyes deeper, more alive. "I wounded three and I think I killed another one. She told me she got one with her dagger. Word about her condition had gotten out and they were looking for a woman with child…" His voice faded.

Jaime smiled darkly. "The two of you make a dangerous couple, my lord."

"Thank you," Arel said, although they all knew it was hardly a compliment.

"We need to get her out," Arthur said. "I need to talk to her."

"You cannot," Arel replied. "Right now, she can't think of getting out, Arthur. She's giving birth."

Jaime went white. Arthur didn't know whether to be scared or relieved. He was not sure whether this was making their task harder or easier. And then he took notice of something strange. "But it's so quiet."

"She isn't screaming," Arel explained. "She's doing her best not to."

He rose. "They should bring a new bucket of hot water any moment now. Maybe the two of you should leave. She's under my protection now. Don't make things difficult for yourselves. I'll take care of her. Tell the Princess that."

Jaime looked ready to bolt. Arthur suddenly remembered that the boy had lost his mother in a day like this one, a day of blood and fear… By now, he had realized what the smell was and that it was coming from the bedchamber. Blood… and other things he would rather not imagine the source of.

"Jaime, go back to the Red Keep and go to sleep. You have the first watch with the King anyway." _And if he somehow learns you are not in the castle, he'll become… restless_, he finished to himself and wondered whether the boy realized that he was now a hostage, albeit a glorified one.

"And what about you?" Jaime asked, clearly relieved at this chance to get away. "Won't you come?"

Arthur hesitated. He didn't want to sit here and wait for the birth of Lady Alynna's child. Not when he didn't belong in Dorne anymore. Not when he had been sitting idle in the Tower of Joy guarding the Stark girl while Errol had been murdered, his head with silver hair and purple eyes a trophy displayed for the rebels. Not when Arel looked at him as if he were a stranger. And he had no doubt that his brother would protect Alynna.

Not when Elia waited for him in the Red Keep.

Lady Shanai's face flashed through his mind, the beautiful and vibrant girl she had been at her wedding and the lovely ghost of her former self she had become after all the disappointments. To Arel, it was not a new thing to wait in front of the chamber of a birthing woman. It had never ended in living child – they had all come too early. Arthur had never been at Starfall through any of her miscarriages or early stillbirths but he could see the shadows of them in his brother's haunted eyes, the way he constantly listened for any sound coming from the bedchamber. Lady Alynna was not his wife but she had been in his life for many years. She was not a stranger. And even if she were, it would have still been hard.

"I'll stay," Arthur said and for the briefest moment, in Arel's eyes he saw a flash of gratitude.

* * *

The son of the dead Errol Gargalen came into the world right after midnight. The midwife lifted him and showed him to his mother. Alynna lifted her hand to touch him, took the gag out of her mouth, and started weeping with relief, joy, and grief.

The midwife shook her head. She was used to seeing anything from new mothers, so she washed the babe and mother and placed him at the young woman's breast. Alynna knew from experience that nursing would hurt and braced herself against the new pain when the little mouth tore hungrily at her seeking milk that was not down yet.

A little later, the door opened and she barely contained her cry of alarm at what he saw in the other room. Arel came in immediately, his first look at her aside to make sure she was decently snuggled in bed. "No, my lady, no. You have nothing to fear."

"Why is he here?" Alynna cried, clasping the babe more tightly to her. Without thinking, she tried to rise, as if she could flee. But she was still so exhausted that she only made it to semi-sitting in bed. "Has he come to take me into custody?"

The sheer horror in her voice shook both men to the core. Arel was concerned that she was not well enough yet to worry. To Arthur, her fear of him was just another blow.

"No, Alynna," Arel assured her. "He's here because he was trying to help you. The Princess send him to get you out of King's Landing. He won't take you to the King."

The wild fear faded from her eyes. She laid back down, placing the newborn on her chest once again. Arthur stood at the door, not quite entering. As always, her resemblance to Elia took him by surprise. For once, freshly relieved from the pain of childbirth, she looked sicker than her cousin.

"I heard it's a boy," Arel said and she nodded, tears springing to her eyes once again. Her new babe had her dark hair but his eyes were his father's – big, and bright, and purple. The thought that Errol would never enter her bedchamber to see his newborn son burned through her heart with the weight of inevitable.

"Soon, our people will be allowed to leave King's Landing." Arel said. "I think we can arrange for you to leave with them."

Her face lit up. "Elia, too? Is she allowed to leave?"

He slowly shook his head. "No, my lady," he said and her face fell. "She isn't."

She paused. "I see."

"I'll have you accompany my sister to Starfall," Arel said. "From there, you can have an escort to Salt Shore… although you are, of course, welcome to stay at Starfall for as long as you like."

_As long as she liked…_

"Alynna," Arel said. "Alynna, are you in pain?"

She didn't answer. She was in pain. Only, the pain in her heart was stronger than the one in her body. She had so much time now because Errol was not waiting for her in Salt Shore. And when she would finally go home, she would have to deal with suitors, enticed by the prospect of marrying the mother of the future Lady Gargalen because her oldest daughter was now her grandfather's heiress. That could turn out beneficial – or destructive. And she would not have any way of knowing which it was before making her choice between the suitors.

She took a deep breath and looked at Arel. "Will you wed me?" she asked.

His surprise was so evident that under other circumstances, she might have laughed but not now. Her situation was too desperate for tears. He was one of the very few men she trusted – and the only one available. "I lost my husband," she said. "You lost Shanai. We both need to make new matches. I'd rather not risk with taking a stranger to husband if I can avoid it. I think we can make it work. You can give me safety and protection. And I can give you an heir," she added, looking at her son. Arel also looked at him.

At the door, Arthur felt as if the world were spinning. Earth had risen and sky had fallen if the proud Alynna Gargalen was stooping so low as to beseech a man to wed her. The world had gone as mad as Aerys – and only in a year.

He crept in the Red Keep a few hours before dawn. By now, he was used to glide along the hallways in Elia's chambers without meeting anyone. She was deeply asleep in her bed, tired of waiting for him. He undressed and climbed in, adjusting his body along the shape hers was taken.

"I am here," Arthur whispered against her hair, careful not to wake her up. "And I found her."

Half-awake, she took his hand and pressed it against her breast.

In moments like this, he wondered why he had ever thought that he belonged to the white cloak. In moments like this, it was so easy to forget about the war, about Rhaegar, about the punishment if they got caught.

He stayed there, listening to her breathe, for an hour and the better part of another one before slipping to the White Sword Tower for a little more rest before taking his shift.


End file.
